The Embassy
by Tatteredcover
Summary: The final days of the Embassy are coming as we follow a young Spy Black (Matthew Nelon) doing normal deeds, questioning his work, life and partnerships in the midst of an oncoming war. Human and mortal AU, (They don't come back from death)


Matthew tilted his head towards the fading lights of the night sky and exhaled a mixture of oncoming death and what he wished to be his soul. He watched the ominous shadow of smoke wither in the still air before him, it stole his attention for a second before the hypnotic vision of the dim flickering stars called it back. They spoke of silent treasure he'd be lying in admitted he heard, he'd listen helplessly with the dreadful knowledge that even an all knowing being beyond comprehension wouldn't have the simple answers he couldn't pry his heart of mind to find. He drew in greedy breaths of the insidious cylinder stuffed with cheap poison numbering parts of his body he'd lost feeling to so long ago within agonizing nights, random fights and on so many blacked out memories where the only thing he recalled was a nauseating color and the overwhelming scent of iron that occasionally- that's what really killed him- that only occasionally was marked as his. There was a sound, cotton grinding against brick, his head tightened into place, fingers gripping the cigarette tighter squirming at the vengeful embers engraving their one-sided passion into his skin. The world around his mind had erased so quickly, so ignorantly. There was a sense now that all those nightmares he ran so frantically away from were simply the reality he gained the displeasure to know as his only only clear vision within the haze he called a life. Somewhere within him there was slight terror, an anxiousness as he waited patiently for the onlooker to follow through with whatever wished they held. He tossed the decaying death stick, slamming his heel over it hearing impatient footsteps try to hide within his noise. They left so many open space for counter attack, but that's not how his mind worked anymore, not the way he wanted it to work anymore. He let the ambitious man have his prayers as he himself gazed back to the stars, once more letting down his guard following stereotypical movements of cinematic endings as his hands pulled out another cigarette, along with a stolen lighter from a body he only regretted in his dreams laying hands on. He closed his eyes and inhaled the damp night air instead of smoke. His eyes fluttered open, the flash of white before him might as well have been his life, although leaving his defenses fall was consequential in itself he's made the bigger mistake of underestimating his opponent. Be it as it may even those stingily bright colors didn't alarm him much, he wasn't one to go against such a haggard burn out. It was beyond hypocritical to object. Perhaps for every wayward deed to be returned upon him would do some justice, so little there wouldn't even be a second glace upon him before condemned to hell. At least there would be be fractions of redemption that he knew too wouldn't last long enough for a peaceful finish. He kept calm watching the world sway gently, his life savings clashed to the ground, his neck introduced to the brute force of frozen hands. He held back a groan as the rest of his body was shoved into the crudely structured building he inhabited instead of lived. The jutted corners of false brick tore easily at his uniform, it too carving far fetched feelings of attachment into his scar tainted skin. More flashed of white he didn't know whether to blame on his lack of sleep, lack of eating, the collision or the dress of the man before him, having his way with his uncaring body. He didn't mind whatever horrors lay ahead, something he himself didn't know how to fully commit. There was a small shimmer of light. Matthew caught a glimpse of it upon the edge of the knife he didn't know how he hadn't noticed earlier. The weapon replaced the cold hands at his throat. His fear had been swallowed, part of himself appreciated the fact he was he in essence unarmed if not then his attacker would have been star gazing with him, gasping for breath he wouldn't be able to find beyond hearty gulps of his blood. Matthew would've had him drowning, bathing, watching, and feeling his life splurt out, painting the ground. The blood though would be unnoticeable to the bigger picture already drenched in the same crimson shade, a fresh coat that once dried meant nothing more than the first, the unimaginable last and the countless others in-between all equally meaningless when blurred together. Although he questioned how far he'd go with that plan without giving up and inserting himself in place of the attacker. There was too much to think about, too much weight accumulating on his head, summer was over the hill along with tormented memories that helped none. The man before him wasn't worth his time he felt he was given too much of. He gripped the metal burying at his neck, inhaling any weakness, pushing it and the man away from the corner he was shoved into. The feet of the others' were swept from underneath him, the grip on the weapon loosened in surprise, stolen and tossed aside before the man hit the ground. Matthew's foots crushed itself on the fallen man's chest purposely staining the cloth with blood and ash. He watched the man's eyes narrow in anger, perhaps he's crossed the line. He dismissed that thought throwing his own fed up glare back in dominance. Leaning forward he intended on bruising the man and much worse, there was hesitation. He gave up on playing, standing away and walking back to his original stance under the stars. On the way he scrounged up his possessions. The fallen man was quick to his feet, the smoker turned back to meet him with open arms allowing for whatever next, hell, now he deserved it.


End file.
